Saviors
by BittersweetSlytherin
Summary: One-shot. TW: attempted suicide. Idea from "Imagine Sam and Dean looking for you after they find your suicide note." Rated for mention of serious content.


"Camryn, we're home!" Sam's giant voice resonated throughout the bunker.

"And we brought grub! Come on, Cam, come eat!" Dean's concerned tone wasn't quite as loud as his little brother's, but the confidence and bassy quality kept them almost equal.

Sam set the plastic bag down on the table, the sweet scent of Chinese takeout engulfing the large room. Its obnoxious rustling drowned out the soft sound of Dean's leather jacket being draped over a chair. Sam made his way to the other side of the table in the middle of the room and began setting out the boxes over and over again. This prompted Dean to stop moving his jacket around and watch Sam as he arranged and rearranged the food.

"Dude," Dean said, confusion emanating from his voice. "What're you doin'?" Sam stopped immediately, his hands resting on the white rice and lo mein.

"I'm getting worried. Cam hasn't made one noise since we got home. She always comes out right away, especially when she knows we're bringing Chinese home. Always."

Dean shifted his eyes down toward the table, worried as well. "I'm gonna go get her." He pushed in the chair his jacket resided on and made his way to the back of the bunker. Camryn's room was the one between Dean's room and the storage closet. When he reached the door, it was closed, an odd occurrence. "Her door is never shut. What the hell is going on?" he asked himself.

With his shaking hand on the knob, he turned his wrist and walked in the room. The bed at the other end of the room was perfectly made, and a small sheet of paper laid on top of the pillow. "Oh, no," he whispered. "Sammy!"

Within a minute, Sam was in the doorway, his face washed with fright. "What, Dean? What's going on?"

"That," the older hunter replied, motioning to the paper. Realization poured over Sam as he looked at the bed from across the room.

"You don't actually think-"

"No, Sammy," Dean interrupted. "I do think."

With that, they both moved toward the bed. Dean reached the paper first and began reading it aloud to his little brother.

"'Sam, Dean. I'm writing this to let you both know that this was not either of your faults. It was mine. I couldn't handle myself and my own life anymore. It's over. I can't do it. I'll see you both in the afterlife; I have a feeling you'll be hunting me at some point. Good luck boys. Don't you forget about me.' Crap, Sammy. We need to find her. Now."

Taking the orders right away, Sam left the room in few long strides and started searching for somewhere Cam would hide away to die. Dean did the same, beginning at the other end of the bunker.

10 minutes later, they met at the table again. "Anything?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head, frustrated. "Son of a bitch," Dean exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table. His little brother backed away, then headed into the hallway toward the bathroom.

Then, Dean heard his brother's voice call from that way. It was urgent and frightened. Dean ran for the bathroom, expecting the worst.

When he reached the small, brightly colored room, all he could see was the back of Sam's tall, built form. His breathing was heavy, and Dean's began to match his brother's. He reached up and tapped him on the shoulder, asking him to move over without having to speak. Sam did as Dean hoped, and the older hunter squeezed through the doorway.

Just as feared, Camryn lay on the bathroom floor with an empty painkiller container in her right hand. The way her body laid on the tiled floor didn't look right. It wasn't like the way Dean looked when Sam found him asleep on the couch, drunk and exhausted. It didn't even look the way Sam did when he would collapse in the foyer after a long hunt. It looked as if Cam had been leaning her head on the toilet seat then lost the strength to hold herself up any longer. Dean bent down to the floor and held his finger to her wrist, feeling for any possible signs of life. Her wrist pulsed every so often, which meant she wasn't dead, yet. There was still a chance. He picked her up gingerly, supporting her head as best he could.

"Sammy, go start the car."


End file.
